The winter lettuce was spent, the spinach had just been planted and the tomato plants had grown enough that they were ready to be staked. It was early spring at the Stiefer farm near Devine and Curtis and Debbie Stiefer were rolling with Mother Nature, growing the seasonal produce they sell at farmers markets throughout San Antonio.

This is the golden age for farmers markets in San Antonio. Almost every day one or more markets sells locally grown produce, specialty gourmet goods and — now that City Council has gotten its act together — fresh, cooked-to-order foods.

I enjoy shopping at farmers markets as much as the next locavore, but sometimes wonder about the folks who grow, sell and often cook all this good food. So I recently spent a couple of days with the Stiefers, who, for the past year, have been selling what they grow on a portion of the 40-acre farm that's been in Curtis' family for three generations.

“My grandfather grew vegetables here in the '40s, my father grew cotton and grain, and now I'm back to growing vegetables,” says Curtis, who long dreamed of farming full time. Debbie, not so much. Still, they're a team. He harvests, she washes. He does the heavy lifting, she schmoozes the customers.

It's more than a full-time job. They sell three days a week at markets across the city. And when they're not selling, they're planting, growing and picking (or thinking about planting, growing and picking). Work starts at first daylight and often continues until twilight — with a break in summer during the hottest part of the day. They've not taken a vacation since jumping into full-time farming.

Their produce isn't certified organic — too much paperwork, says Curtis — but they do follow organic principles. They scatter onion greens between rows of crops to help ward off insects and, should that fail, they'll use a certified organic spray.

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Still, they're farmers. There are no guarantees. The ongoing drought has hurt. Looking over an open field where several head of cattle lazily graze, Curtis opines, “Anytime you can count the cow patties, you're in bad shape.”

There are also plenty of lessons to learn. Last year, he grew two crops of spring squash and then rolled the dice on a third.

“We did well until about July 1 when the temperatures hit 100,” he recalls. “Then everything just stopped and we never got another crop.”

Like any retailer, the Stiefers must know their customers. But depending on the market, they can be very different. The Stiefers grow a strain of carrots called Purple Hase that are rich in antioxidants, giving them a purple tint. They bring 40 bunches to the Quarry Market on Sundays, where shoppers are younger and more willing to try new things, but only 20 to the Wednesday market in Leon Springs, where customers are older and prefer the basics like spinach, lettuce and (orange) carrots.

But in Leon Springs, the Stiefers say, they're more likely to create relationships with shoppers. One recent Wednesday, Debbie gave a copy of a vegetable planting guide she'd promised to a woman the week before

The Quarry, however, is a bit more hoity-toity. “People come in, they pay for what they want and they're gone,” she says.

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In the end, it's tough yet rewarding work — tough for the Stiefers, rewarding for those of us who benefit from their hard work.